


A Flaw In Our Chemistry

by TheWolfWithinMe



Category: Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Mentions of rape later on, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfWithinMe/pseuds/TheWolfWithinMe
Summary: Arthur gets kidnapped and tortured by Colm.Dutch knows his boy, his ‘son’, yet everyone has secrets.And Arthur’s are particularly dangerous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains abuse, torture, pain and implied rape. Just a warning.

It was one of those nights where Arthur refused to sleep. His body, still so broken and battered, fought against him, and yet even after almost dozing off at the bar, he still refused. 

Because sleep meant nightmares. 

Clutching a shot glass in one hand, the other slipped under his shirt — one blunt nail tracing along a particularly nasty scar on his stomach. It had healed in the recent weeks, but would never completely fade. 

A constant reminder that he wasn’t good enough. 

Nursing his drink, he allowed the white shirt to fall back into place again, hoping that if maybe he couldn’t see the scar, he’d finally forget about it. And all the others that covered his body like paint to a blank canvas. 

But no amount of alcohol or pretence would let him forget about that night. It was seared into his damn mind. 

The grip on his drink tightened, knuckles turning white as the memories happily dominated his thoughts again. 

xoxo /Flashback/

He was upside down, hanging by a rope tied so tightly that it cut into his flesh. His arms had been used to sharpen knives; one particular wound still dripping with blood even days later. His stomach was used to keep tallies, which explained why he had ten lines going directly down the skin on his chest. One eye was blackened, the other untouched. 

But worst of all, was the words. 

One night, after getting beaten to near unconsciousness, Arthur had a ‘meeting’ with the gang leader. Someone he knew from history. 

Colm. 

Colm had swaggered down the stairs, stinking of beer and piss, and pulled up a chair. Sitting backwards on it in front of Arthur. 

No warmth or kindness radiated off of him, only anger and disgust. He looked at Arthur as though he was nothing more than horse shit.

“Well, well, what do we have ‘ere?” His gaze, if possible, darkened. “Didn’t think I’d get my hands on Dutch’s prized bitch.” He spat out Dutch’s name and leaned closer to Arthur. “How long do you think it will take him to come and rescue you?”

Arthur kept quiet, half in and half out of consciousness at this point. 

“Or maybe he won’t come at all...” Colm scratched at his chin in thought, eyes full of malice. “All that loyalty you gave to him and he probably has another bitch boy right now!” He curled his lips up into a sneer, one finger reaching out to scratch down Arthur’s chest. 

“Have you told him your little secret?” 

Arthur visibly tensed up, both from the words and Colm’s unwelcome touch. 

“Did you tell him about Annabel? How we only got to her because of   
y o u?” 

Arthur grit his teeth in response. 

“Does he know how you f e e l about him? That you touch yourself every night whimpering his name?” 

“Shut. Up.”

“Oh! You d o talk! I was beginning to think one of my boys had cut out ya tongue.” He paused, momentarily looking as though that was actually a good idea, then grinned wider. Nastier. “Anyway, pretty boy, get comfortable. You may be here for a while.~”

xoxo /End Flashback/

But two days later, he was rescued. Dutch and the entire gang had burst their way into Colm’s lair, guns blazing, and killed half of the O’Driscoll’s residing there. 

Colm, of course, slipped away. 

But he was the last thing on Dutch’s mind. In fact, after taking one look at Arthur’s bruised and battered body, the usually self contained and calm leader’s facade broke. 

And Arthur hated it. Hated being eyed like a victim. Hated the guilt and self hate radiating off the other man. Hated the way Dutch was looking at him... touching him as though he may break at any moment. 

 

It made him want to scream, to push Dutch away and run. Anything to get that damn expression off the older male’s face. 

But his lips were too swollen and bruised to speak and his limbs weren’t entirely sure they knew how to work anymore, so he could only grunt weakly in response when Dutch lifted him up, shooing other gang members away when they approached. 

Luckily for Arthur, he lost consciousness a few seconds later. 

xoxo 

And now here he was, sat in a Saloon in Valentine, with a sixth drink in hand. 

It had been two weeks since the ordeal, and he still flinched every time unknown footsteps sounded behind him, one hand instinctively reaching for his gun. 

This time, however, it was a false alarm. 

“Arthur!” 

Josiah Trelawny took a seat beside him, as immaculate as ever, and ordered himself a drink. 

“How’s it going, dear boy?” 

Arthur knew Trelawny was only here on Dutch’s orders, as he had rejected every attempt his leader made at joining him. Hosea had dropped by an hour earlier, John two hours ago... 

“Just peachy.” He grumbled, finally downing the drink in his hand; the liquid now warm from how long he had held it. 

“Arthur... I’m not Dutch, you don’t need to lie to me.”

He huffed. “Yeah, but you’ll tell him everything I tell you.” 

Trelawny sipped at his drink, not immediately answering. He kept Arthur in suspense for several long seconds before tipping his head towards the door. “Don’t need to, dear boy, he’s sat outside right now. As soon as you leave, he’s gonna pounce.” 

Arthur groaned quietly and promptly ordered a fresh drink. “Then I’ll stay here tonight.” 

“You can’t avoid him forever, you know?” 

“Can’t I?”

“Arthur...”

“What?”

He was sounding pouty and he knew it. 

“He’s worried about you.”

“M’fine.” 

His fingers shook as he reached out for the new drink. What number was this one, anyway? The seventh? 

Trelawny said something under his breath, then slowly swiped the drink away from Arthur, who was definitely pouting now. 

“Stay with me. I’ll prefer to keep an eye on you.” 

“I’m...” He suddenly felt the fight leave him and sighed heavily. “...Fine. Fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur followed Trelawny out of the saloon, and immediately spotted a familiar white horse. The Count was tethered up beside his own steed, though he couldn’t see Dutch... yet. 

“Shouldn’t ya ask his permission?” He wondered aloud, not wanting the other man to get into trouble because of him. Even on the verge of a mental breakdown, he still cared. 

“Ask my permission for what?”

Dutch had just appeared outside the general store, cigar in hand. Seeing him again made Arthur’s heart twist in pain, which he quickly blamed on the whiskey. 

/Does he know your little secret?/

Colm’s voice echoed in his head loud and clear, causing him to take a step backwards. Dutch’s expression went from curious to concerned.

“Arthur?”

/Does he know how you feel about him?/ 

A whimper left his lips this time, resulting in both Dutch and Trelawny taking a step closer. 

“What’s going on?”

/Does he know what we d i d?/ 

“No!”

The outburst left him before he could contain it, uglier images now plaguing his mind. Ones he would sell his soul to forget. 

“Arthur...” 

Dutch had his hands held up, clearly trying to calm him, but Arthur was running on repulsion, fear and adrenaline. Untethering his horse, he clambered up into the worn saddle and was off. The faster he rode the more the wind rushed past his ears, though still not loud enough to block out Colm’s voice. 

/You really a r e pretty. I can see why Dutch keeps you around./

His horse thundered across the open plains, hooves kicking up dust and debris as he pushed her harder. 

/Oh, but he doesn’t see it, does he? You poor thing.../ 

Where he was going, was a mystery. He just rode and rode and rode, until finally reaching Strawberry. Night had fallen, and people were going about their business. Some were drunk, some were trying to woo the women. 

And Arthur was trying to keep himself together. 

Urging his horse forwards, he rode past the butcher, where only a month or two ago he was buying the premium meat in an attempt to impress Dutch. Then the Sheriff’s office, where he busted out Micah. 

Micah.

It was because of him that Arthur had been taken. Swallowing back the painful lump in his throat, he slid off his horse and hitched her to a nearby post. 

She needed to rest and he needed another drink. 

xoxo

He woke up against a wall, head pounding and eyes blurry. Birds chattered overhead and another beautiful blue sky presented itself to him. 

Yet he felt miserable. 

And guilty for abandoning Trelawny. 

Stiffly getting to his feet again, he brushed the dirt away and straightened his hat, which had gone lopsided at some point during the night. 

He knew where Trelawny was staying — in a small house just outside Rhodes, so decided to take him up on his offer. Going back to camp was out of the question, and the thought of facing Dutch again just made him nauseous. 

But Josiah Trelawny was safe. He had always brought out the best in Arthur, remained patient, and taught him that there was more to life than shooting and killing. 

So he located his horse and set off at a steady pace, barely pushing her this time. He felt guilty about that as well. 

The ride was uneventful, and he was soon crossing into Rhodes. People called out and greeted him, to which he returned the gesture. 

He could /almost/ forget about Colm. 

Until he rode past a couple of O’Driscoll’s deep in conversation.

“Colm says he’s planning to take Dutch’s boy again.”

“He’s getting obsessed now.” The second O’Driscoll replied with a grunt. 

“I know, but he says he wants to break him, to get at Dutch once and for all.”

This made both men laugh. 

“Didn’t we break him enough that night? And all the other nights he was at our mercy?”

Arthur didn’t want to hear the rest. Face pale and fingers trembling, he kicked his horse into a canter and didn’t stop until he reached Trelawny’s place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of rape and other graphic details.
> 
> Just a warning.

Arthur had been at Trelawny’s place for a few days now, choosing to sleep only when Josiah was around and stay on high alert when he wasn’t. To his credit, the other man did linger at the small house for as long as possible, clearly not wanting to let Arthur out of his sight. 

But they were low on supplies and so Josiah had left to go into town for more. He had only been gone for twenty minutes or so, yet Arthur was already twitchy. A gun lay on the couch beside him and a book was open in his lap, though he must have read the same line a dozen or so times already; his thoughts miles away. 

A loud banging on the door shook him from his trancelike state and he instinctively reached for the weapon, holding it so tightly that the metal was starting to cut into his skin. 

Trelawny had told him not to answer the door.

O’Driscoll’s wouldn’t knock though, would they? That wasn’t their style. They’d blast their way in and just /take/ him. 

His heart calmed a little at this notion, and he stood up, gun still in hand. Maybe it was John or Hosea. Or someone else from the gang.

He /was/ starting to miss them. 

Slowly dragging his feet towards the door, he yanked it open and pointed his gun at the stranger. 

Except it was no stranger...

...it was Dutch.

The gang leader himself.

Dutch looked like utter shit. From the unkempt hair to the stained waistcoat to the bags under his eyes, he mirrored how Arthur felt inside. 

Well, partly. 

“Arthur?”

The older man’s dark gaze was on the gun still aimed at his head, a wary expression surfacing. “It’s me, son...” 

“No shit. What are ya doing here?” Arthur growled in response, hesitating for a moment before lowering the weapon again.

“I wanted to see y—“

Snorting loudly, Arthur cut him off. 

“I don’t want to see you.”

Just looking at Dutch made his heart ache. For every minute that he was in Hell with Colm he had wished that Dutch would come and save him, hold him tightly and make it all okay again. 

And sure, in the end he did come. But by then the damage had already been done. 

“I miss you, Arthur...”

Arthur just gritted his teeth, one hand on the door. Half tempted to slam it in Dutch’s face. But the small, stubborn part of him that still loved the older man wouldn’t allow it. 

So instead, he stood aside and let Dutch in. 

“Arthur...”

Dutch shuffled some books to one side and sat down on the couch, eyes roaming around the room once before landing on Arthur again. He was clearly struggling with something.

“Arthur... What happened... with Colm?” 

The younger man lingered in the doorway, just in case he needed to bolt. At Dutch’s question, he almost did, and Dutch must have noticed it too because he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

“I know something happened.” He was trying to keep his voice soft, calm, and it almost made Arthur break. 

Because he didn’t deserve such kindness. 

“Things... He did... things...”

The tension in the room was building between them, and Arthur’s chest was beginning to hurt. 

“What sort of things?” Dutch coaxed gently, patiently. He was trying so hard to stay calm.

Too hard. 

And then Arthur saw it; the way Dutch’s hands were trembling, the wobble of his lower lip, the a n g e r in his eyes, the self hatred radiating off his entire body. The /regret/ and shame and agony that dominated his damn features.

“You already know... Don’t you?”

In answer, and because he no longer trusted himself to speak, Dutch pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Arthur. 

/Dutch,  
I see you got your boy back, in one piece and all! I’m impressed. The boys and I... well, we didn’t go easy on him.  
Oh he screamed, every night, every t i m e. And he screamed for /you/.   
He’s in love with you and you don’t even see it, do you? Everyone else with eyes can and yet you... did you even notice he was gone?   
Watch your back,  
And his,  
— Colm.  
Oh, one other thing — He’s a great fuck. So submissive and obedient. Such pretty lips too.~/

Arthur’s mouth was dry. His throat painfully tight. All he could do was stare at the words and try not to scream. More images clouded his mind and he was powerless to stop them: Colm pinning him to the floor, fucking him dry until Arthur bled, and then returning the next night to repeat the process. Colm telling Arthur that he was worthless, useless, and nothing to Dutch. Colm giving Arthur to the others and letting them do whatever they wanted — with whatever they had to hand — until Arthur passed out, either from exhaustion or lack of blood. 

Arthur was so lost in his own nightmare fuelled mind that he didn’t even notice Dutch stand up, until a pair of strong, safe arms pulled him in, wrapped him up and protected him from the world outside. 

The scent of home, familiarity, and Dutch’s cologne surrounded Arthur and he couldn’t fight his emotions anymore. Thick, vision blurring tears rolled down his cheeks and fell onto the older man’s shirt, but he never loosened his grip. If anything, he only held Arthur tighter. Tears prickling his own eyes. 

“I’m so sorry...” Dutch whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry, Arthur...” 

They held each other like that, both gripping tightly as though their lives depended on it, until Trelawny returned half an hour later.


End file.
